


Emotional Progress

by manic_intent



Category: Grand Theft Auto V
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, M/M, Minor Character Death, Slight Canon Divergence, That incident where Michael takes Trevor along to Friendship Therapy, and things go the way they usually go
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-22
Updated: 2019-06-22
Packaged: 2020-05-16 10:53:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,649
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19316722
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/manic_intent/pseuds/manic_intent
Summary: “Now that Trevor is back in your life,” Dr Friedlander said as he walked Michael to the door after the end of one of their therapy sessions, “why don’t you bring him to your next session?”“Sure Doc, sure,” Michael said, distracted. He’d been easily distracted since Amanda and the kids had moved out. For all that they drove him up the wall at the best of times, Michael was surprised to find out how much he missed them.“Excellent. Bring him with you then. Maybe in three days’ time?”Michael’s brain chose this moment to helpfully mainline him back into reality. “Wait, what?”





	Emotional Progress

**Author's Note:**

> Fic for Amanda, who asked for GTA5, in-game side mission, Trevor and Michael attending therapy together. I actually didn’t do any of the optional therapy sessions because they were really expensive in-game and Dr Friedlander kinda pissed me off—he’s a caricature of a Hollywood therapist. 
> 
> Best Trevor and Michael mission, pretty much summarises this couple for people unfamiliar with this ship:  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BedOMpIxGQM
> 
> Trevor and Michael arguing like a couple:  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=t3xkwXolsig
> 
> I guess Dr Friedlander still has to be the therapist  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OQUNTX7rJyw

“Now that Trevor is back in your life,” Dr Friedlander said as he walked Michael to the door after the end of one of their therapy sessions, “why don’t you bring him to your next session?” 

“Sure Doc, sure,” Michael said, distracted. He’d been easily distracted since Amanda and the kids had moved out. For all that they drove him up the wall at the best of times, Michael was surprised to find out how much he missed them. 

“Excellent. Bring him with you then. Maybe in three days’ time?” 

Michael’s brain chose this moment to helpfully mainline him back into reality. “Wait, what?” 

Friedlander smiled gently at him, utterly guileless. “Bringing your… associate… Trevor with you. To our next session. I do charge double for a friendship therapy session, but it’ll be worth it, I assure you. It might even help him reduce some of his anger towards you if he could release it in a controlled environment.”

Michael had to lean a hand on the wall and take in a slow breath. “Doc. You. Want me. To bring Trevor. Here. For therapy.”

“Why, yes,” Friedlander said. His expression didn’t change as Michael let out a loud guffaw.

“Ha! Seriously. No, that’s a bad idea. A real fucking bad idea. Trevor is… I ain’t exaggerating when I say he’s a fucking psychopath. The real deal.”

“I often deal with psychopaths, Michael. It’s part of my job.”

“You haven’t met anyone like Trevor. _I_ haven’t met anyone like Trevor. Someday when he dies and goes to Hell, even the demons won’t have met anyone like motherfucking _Trevor_.” 

Friedlander gently raised his eyebrows. “I’d love the challenge. It’s up to you and Trevor, of course.”

Michael relented a little. “I guess our ‘friendship’ could use some help. If only to stop him from maybe someday blowing my house up with explosives when I’m in it.” Michael had a feeling that the only reason why Trevor hadn’t done something like that yet was because Trevor had a weird, caveman protectiveness thing going on where Tracey was concerned. 

“Recognising that you have a problem is progress,” Friedlander said, “and taking steps to address it is also a step forward.” 

“Why is it I make all these steps forward and never seem to get anywhere?” 

“You have sadly a large number of problems, Michael. You know this. That’s why you’re here. Many of them might never be solved, only managed. It’s only to be expected, with your sexual hangups. We can only ever be optimistic. Onward and upward, hm?”

“Okay, Doc. I’ll bring it up with Trevor. No promises, though.” 

“None expected. Effective therapy has to be a voluntary process.” Friedlander patted Michael gently on the shoulder. “Just do what you can.” 

In the parking space under Friedlander’s glass edifice of an office, Michael let himself into the sleek black and red Banshee that he’d hotwired off the sidewalk on the way to his therapist’s office. In this day and age, Michael was still surprised that people were willing to leave open top expensive sports cars at park randomly on the street. The owner had been just asking to be robbed, really. Besides, an owner of a car as fancy as this probably had insurance, right? So all Michael had done was feed the economy—

With a groan, Michael rested his forehead on the leather steering wheel. It was just like what Dr Friedlander said. Michael was having some sort of cascading relapse. Starting to justify all his bad old habits to himself again. He’d already lost his family. He couldn’t even blame Amanda or the kids. Hell, he couldn’t even blame them for resenting his fucked up, depressed, psychopathic self. 

“I can fix that,” Michael muttered. It sounded weak in the silence of the car. “I can fucking fix it. Okay. I can fix it.” He pulled out into traffic, listening to the rumbling purr of the car around him. Tried to enjoy the drive back home instead of worrying about his family, the FIB, about his slippery slope he’d found himself on. About Trevor. 

He was in a fairly good mood again as he parked the car in the driveway of his house. After a therapy session, Michael did usually feel some catharsis. He hadn’t even thought about running any poor schmucks over on the way home. Had obeyed all the traffic lights. Driven on the right side of the road. He’d been a fucking saint. 

“Progress,” Michael said, sauntering to the door. “Yeah. Progress.” He pushed a key into the door and frowned as he realised it was already unlocked. Had Amanda come home? Or the kids? He pushed the door open with a sense of new hope, looking into the empty foyer of the large house. “Amanda? Tracey? Jim—what the _fuck_.” There was a dirt bike turned on its side on the couch, crusty with red trail dust that left a stain on the carpets. Michael looked down. He’d somehow missed the tyre tracks when he’d walked in. There was a raccoon on the kitchen table, snout-deep in the jar of Tracey’s organic sugar-free activated peanut butter. It stared reproachfully at Michael.

“What the hell?” Michael advanced slowly on the raccoon. It backed off, still holding the peanut butter jar, though it raised its buttery snout. A pink ribbon had been haphazardly tied around its throat. A rainbow-coloured dog leash was on the kitchen counter behind it, along with a blue leather collar, both of them slightly bloodstained at the edges. There was a bag of dog food in the sink that was extremely bloodstained. 

Michael took in a deep breath. “ _Trevor_?” 

No answer. Afraid of what he was going to find, Michael inched past the raccoon, which gave him a surprisingly evil eye for a small creature. He found who he was looking for in the pool, floating face-down in filthy underwear and nothing else.

“Jesus!” Michael stumbled over, splashing into the pool in his suit. He swam over to Trevor, grabbing his arm. Trevor wrenched away with a roar, sweeping the area with a furious stare. He squinted as he stared at a spot above Michael’s shoulder. 

“Mikey? Woooahh. You has some. Very serious. Sparklie-sparklies.” 

“Are you high?” Michael snapped. 

“High? _High?_ Naah. Nah nah nah. I’m low, Mikey. Real low. Low as fuck.” Trevor flopped onto his back, shedding days of filth into the pool. His sparse hair floated in the chlorine, getting its first real decontamination in forever. “How’s the tune go? Mikey got low, low, low. Low, low. Low. Low?” 

“All right, asshole. C’mon. C’mon.” Michael took hold of Trevor’s arm again and towed him to the edge of the pool. Trevor flailed absently but made no move to escape. He even stumbled out of the pool when tugged. “The hell are you doing here, Tee?” 

“You don’t call me Tee. Mikey used to call me Tee. The nice Mikey. Not nice. The real Mikey. Not the sad sack old one here.” Trevor eyeballed Michael’s throat. “Whooo. This is the stuff!” 

God knew what kind of drug cocktail Trevor was riding now. “Yeah, yeah. C’mon. The sad sack Mikey just stopped you from drowning.” Michael manoeuvred Trevor to the couch and pushed him onto it. “Stay there.” Rummaging through the cabinets near the pool, Michael found a striped beach towel, which he tossed onto Trevor’s face. 

Trevor made no move to use it, cuddling it instead. “Ooh, Mikey. You’re so warm and fluffy.” 

Giving up, Michael started to head upstairs to get a change of clothes. “What’s with the raccoon anyway?”

“What raccoon? It’s a dog. Guard dog. For little Tracey, who has a deadbeat dad and is all alone against the cruel world.” 

Dr Friedlander thought Trevor was a challenge? Trevor was a fucking _menace_. Michael rubbed his hand slowly over his face. He needed a drink.

#

Trevor flinched away from the tree as Wade whispered, “Psst!” nearby out of reach.

“Wh-what?” Trevor blinked against the evil, cruel sun. It had been swimming in and out of focus all morning and making him woozy. For a comedown from a random drug he’d sampled from a meth lab he’d happened to stumble into, it was actually rather mild. 

“Trace—”

“Ah-ah!” 

“Er, Miss er, Miss Lady De Santa, she’s just having a coffee with friends. Other girls she knew from high school. They’re talking about stuff.”

“Hmmwhat? What stuff?” Trevor tried to focus on Wade’s earnest face. For a minion, Wade maybe rated a 2 on a usefulness scale of 10. Trevor had dug him out of the outskirts of life and given him a purpose, said purpose being to graciously serve Trevor and be grateful for the opportunity. Wade failed at that on most occasions.

“You know. Girl stuff.” Wade looked increasingly uncomfortable, which was a feat for a guy who normally already looked like a nervous streak of piss. His face turned slowly red and he seemed to shrink into its oversized shirt. “ _Boys_.” 

“Girl stuff boys?” Trevor repeated blankly. 

“Uhh no. They’re just. Talking about boys? Who they like?” 

“The fuck? Is she even old enough?” Trevor peered suspiciously over the hedge he was hidden behind. In the fancy cafe across the street, Tracey and her female minions giggled. 

“I dunno,” Wade said, retreating behind a wise answer.

“Okay then, who?” 

“Who what?”

“Who,” Trevor said patiently behind gritted teeth, “does _Miss De Santa_ like?” 

“Uh, uh well, uh, the usual you know?” 

“Pretend I’m not all ‘caught up’ with the various wants and interests of vulnerable young women with shitty fathers. Fuck. Fuck you, Michael,” Trevor hissed to himself. Fuck Michael. If Michael could only be a fraction of the father that Little Tracey De Santa deserved, Trevor wouldn’t have to be pulling this shit. 

“Uh well, you know, there was this uh, song group. Band. A boy band. Called Plenty Direction? There’s uh. One guy in it who is really popular. His name is Henry Miles. Miss er, Miss De Santa said if she could only meet Henry one day all her dreams will come true and she will die happy.” 

“Right, right.” Trevor narrowed his eyes. “So where is this Miles guy?” 

“He’s going to be performing in Los Santos in a week. Tickets are already sold out. Tracey didn’t manage to get any even though she uh, she briefly stole her dad’s wallet without him noticing.” 

“That’s our girl,” Trevor said proudly. “Already a real talent for her age. A woman above the rest. So. Henry Miles, huh? Henry. Miles. He doesn’t know how fucking lucky he’s going to be. Send me his picture. I’m going to have to ask a friend for a favour.” 

Wade sent a photo to Trevor. Henry Miles was a skinny kid who looked maybe a bit older than Tracey. On first impression, Trevor wasn’t entirely sure why Tracey was even interested. Guy like this looked like he’d cry if he was punched in the stomach a few times. Maybe it was his money? Or maybe it was because the guy looked like the polar opposite of Michael. Which Trevor could understand. 

“The things I’ll do for family,” Trevor said. He lurched to his feet, almost staggering into a tree. “Wade. You will keep an eye on Tracey. If anything happens to her, you better make sure she’s safe or die trying, or I will end you with a blunt butter knife after feeding you your balls.” Trevor patted Wade on the shoulder and lumbered off to jack the closest car. 

Trevor ran over a couple of randoms on his way to Lester’s, which put him in a marginally good mood. He was humming as he swerved up to Lester’s porch, and sober enough to make it to the front door without falling over. He pounded on the door and stumbled in when Lester finally answered. 

“Of course it’s you,” Lester said, unimpressed. Lester had also changed for the worse over the years. He’d lost at least half of his fine blonde hair, and he’d gone the way of the beanbag, just like Michael. Unlike Michael, however, Lester was as sharp as ever.

“Lester, my man,” Trevor said. He wandered into Lester’s cramped abode and nearly tripped over Michael, who was stretched out on the armchair. “And Mikey. Mikey, Mikey. Good. You’re here.”

“Why?” Michael glowered at him. 

“Because you’re going to make up for all your years of being a completely useless father by helping me make all your daughter’s dreams come true,” Trevor said, with an expansive gesture. 

“Oh, here we go.” Lester wheeled himself over to his array of monitors and swung around, eyeballing them both. “As I was saying, Michael, I’m still working on the details of the next job, so you could maybe leave and take Trevor with you.”

“I need a favour, Lester.” Trevor slouched into the closest sofa he could find. “There is a person. Called Henry Miles. Part of a boy band. He’ll be in Los Santos in a week. I want to kidnap him.” 

“What?” Michael asked. 

“Henry Miles? As in one of the members of Plenty Direction?” Lester gawked. “What for? Ransom?” 

“No, no. Just an introduction. To Little Tracey. If it all works out and he isn’t a total dick, we can then drive them to a church. If he’s a dick, I guess we kill him and melt down his body,” Trevor said. 

“He’s one of the biggest stars on the planet. You can’t just…” Lester trailed off, massaging his temple. “Christ.” 

“Wait, wait,” Michael said slowly, “you want to kidnap. A pop star. And. Marry him. To Tracey. Are you out of your _motherfucking mind_?”

“She said it was what she wanted out of life!” Trevor snarled. 

“She’s a kid!” Michael yelled.

“She’s 22! A young woman!” Trevor shot back. “Fuck you, Michael! Bad enough that I have to pull bodyguard duty since Little Tracey is living with a total fucking weirdo, I have to make up for over two decades of your fucking shit parenting!” 

“Okay guys, calm down, calm down,” Lester said, perhaps alarmed about the escalation of hostilities within shooting distance of himself. “Look. Marriage is kinda abrupt, isn’t it? They don’t know each other. They don’t know if they’d be compatible. And besides, uh, pop stars. You know what they’re like? They have lots of girlfriends? I think maybe also, maybe Tracey just was using a figure of speech? Kids do that nowadays. Maybe… maybe she just wants to go to his concert?” 

“I’ve never heard her mention anything about this Henry Miles guy,” Michael said, siding quickly with Lester. Weasel. “And I really don’t think Tracey’s ready for marriage. Amanda and I, we were really hoping she’d go to college first.”

“College? Who needs college. None of us went to college,” Trevor said, sneering.

“Yeah. And look at us now.” Michael sank back into the armchair. He looked so tired and pathetic that Trevor felt a little… well. He wasn’t sure what he felt. 

“Okay. Tickets,” Trevor said. Tickets they could do. “How hard is it to get those?” 

“There are ticket scalpers for things like this. The tickets usually sell out in minutes.” Lester started typing. “Yeah. They were sold out months ago. The scalper price is around five thousand dollars per ticket right now since the concert’s in a week.” 

“What.” Michael looked up sharply. 

“ _But_ there might not even be a point. A scalped ticket might get cancelled,” Lester said, still typing furiously. “The safest way would be for the two of you to steal a ticket from someone who bought a physical ticket.” 

“What do you mean ‘we’,” Michael said, even as Trevor said, “Makes sense.” 

“I’ll see if I can hack into the system and narrow things down. Now, will you both please leave.” Lester glowered at them both until they slunk out. 

“I’m not going to help you steal a concert ticket off some other kid to give it to my kid,” Michael said once they were on the sidewalk. 

Trevor rolled his eyes. “Wow. Mikey grew a conscience? Fuck. Me. I don’t know if you noticed, but I don’t actually need you. If you don’t want to make your little girl happy, hell, it isn’t like Uncle Trevor hasn’t been picking up the slack recently.” 

Michael reddened. “Fuck off, Tee. I’m not in the mood for this.”

“When are you ever in the mood for anything? Look. I don’t like them staying with a random stranger. _You_ don’t like that either. So. We can work together, and they can move back into your house. You’re a sad asshole but at least you’re a sad asshole with guns and good aim,” Trevor said. 

“Wow, thanks.” Michael looked pensive, rubbing his hand through his thinning hair. “How does stealing a concert ticket help my family move back? They’re right, you know. The life we lead. It isn’t safe for them. Maybe they _are_ better off with a yoga teacher.” 

“Would you even hear yourself speak, my God,” Trevor moaned. He gestured wildly as he prowled around Michael. “What do you need, huh? A bigger gun? Drugs? More therapy?” 

Michael stiffened. “Maybe therapy,” he said. He drew himself up. “You should come with me. We can do that. Group therapy. Sort things out.”

“And then we steal a concert ticket?” 

“…Fine.” 

“The things I do,” Trevor said. He waved Michael toward his battered and bloodied car. “Let’s go.”

“Now?” 

“Time’s a-wasting. Concert’s in a week. Let’s move, let’s move!”

Michael exhaled. “Okay, okay. But not in that car. Christ, what did you do, run over a… Actually, don’t tell me. I don’t want to know.”

“You have lost all sense of fun in your life,” Trevor said sadly.

#

Dr Friedlander looked mildly pleased as Trevor shouldered past him into his office. “You must be Trevor. Well done, Michael.”

“So this is therapy, huh? Do I lie on a couch? Tell you about the deep, dark secrets of my childhood?” Trevor was wearing one of his crocodile grins, all but vibrating on his feet. Recognising the signs of imminent destruction, Michael hastily pulled Trevor toward the couch. 

“We just sit here, and he sits there, and then we talk,” Michael said.

“How much is this talk?” Trevor reluctantly allowed himself to be pulled along. 

“My rates are a very reasonable thousand dollars per session,” Friedlander said as he settled down gracefully into his chair. “More, for a group session.”

“What the fuck? And the law calls _me_ a criminal,” Trevor said, incredulous. 

“Dr Friedlander’s very qualified,” Michael said. 

“A qualified grade-a fucking pro, is what he is. I’ve known five-diamond whores who didn’t even charge that much per ‘session’,” Trevor said. He grinned toothily again. “Well come on, Doc. Psychotisise me.”

“Psychoanalyse,” Michael muttered. 

“This isn’t about me,” Friedlander said, his calm unbroken, “but about you. And Michael, of course. The aim is to help the two of you communicate and repair your relationship.” 

“Communicate? This asshole betrayed me and another friend and made off with the money,” Trevor growled. 

“A deed that he is no doubt ashamed of,” Friedlander said. He looked at Michael. “Aren’t you, Michael?” 

“Kind of,” Michael said. At Trevor’s glare, Michael brought up his hands. “Look. Tee. The people we were. That kind of life. You saw the way we were living. I just wanted Jimmy and Tracey to have a better life, all right?” 

“Fuck you, Michael. You think I fucking believe that? _You_ wanted out, you mean. Look at what you’ve done to your kids. If you really _fucking_ cared about them, Jimmy wouldn’t be a loser and Tracey would be in college. Who saved her from being a national embarrassment? _Me_. Who murdered two stalkers who were following her yesterday? Me. Who’s going to make her dreams come true? _Me_.”

“Uh.” Michael coughed and glanced at Friedlander. 

“Everything here is confidential,” Friedlander said, with a faint smile. “It sounds like you have an emotional attachment to Tracey.”

Trevor bristled. “Don’t make it sound like I’m a fucking pervert. Because. I might be a fucking pervert, but not about this. That little girl. I was there when she was born. Well, not exactly there, hospital security removed me from the premises, but I was in the hospital car park. I was there when she said her first word. I don’t care about much in this world but I care about her. And Jimmy. Maybe even Amanda. I read something before that said that kids need their moms.”

“So surely you don’t begrudge them having a somewhat better life, brought about by money that indeed should have been partly yours,” Friedlander said. 

Trevor gaped at Friedlander for a long moment. Michael got ready to tackle Trevor if he attempted murder, clearing his throat. “Tee. I was trying to say. I’m sorry. I should have talked to you and Brad. I just. We were never very good at talking—” 

“That’s all the time we have for today,” Friedlander said, checking his watch. “Same time next week?”

“Wait, what?” Trevor said, glowering at Friedlander. “That’s it? That’s two thousand dollars? Good fucking _Christ_. Mikey, Mikey. Can’t you recognise a scam when you see it? This is pathetic.”

“Okay, Doc. Maybe next week.” Michael got to his feet. “Let’s go, Tee.” 

“No. I was only just getting started.” Trevor stretched out his legs on the couch. “The way I see it, Doc here is now my therapist. He’s meant to make me feel aaalll better. What better way for him to do that than for our session to keep going?” 

“I do have other clients,” Friedlander said, “and the healing process is an ongoing thing that should be taken in gentle steps. Willingness and enthusiasm is good progress, however.” 

Trevor nodded slowly. “So let’s progress some more. Or I’ll progress my progress with my fist in your face.” 

“No. We’re going.” Michael made a grab for Tee, who twisted out of reach. “Tee.” 

“Siddown, Mikey. Let’s call this me, saving the two of you, from your stupidity.” Trevor grabbed Michael’s arm and hauled him down with his uncanny strength. Michael yelped as he sprawled over the couch, nearly into Trevor’s lap. When he looked up, Trevor was holding a pistol, something that he’d materialised out of nowhere. What the fuck.

“Tee,” Michael said. 

“Now, there’s no need to be hasty.” Friedlander straightened up. It was the first time Michael had ever seen him look nervous. 

“Exactly. No need to be hasty. Now. Let’s talk about you, Doc. How was your childhood?” Trevor smiled nastily. 

“It was fine,” Friedlander said, his eyes fixed on the gun. “Michael…?” 

“I wasn’t asking Mikey. I was asking you. You sure it was fine? That’s so boring. A skinny smartass fuck like you, I was so sure it’d be something more… interesting. More… fulfilling.” Trevor waved the pistol as he spoke. “C’mon, Doc. You can tell us. _Tell us_.” 

“I…” Friedlander swallowed.

“Yes? Go on. Tell us.” Trevor uncurled from the couch, stalking over. He shoved the gun up under Friedlander’s jaw. “Tell us everything. All your dark and dirty little secrets. Every fucking thing.” 

Friedlander whimpered. “Tee,” Michael said, getting slowly to his feet. “Let him go.” 

Trevor slapped Friedlander across the face with the pistol and jammed it back into his throat. The therapist bit of a harsh gasp. “Tell.” 

“I… I once peeked on my sister when she was changing!” Friedlander sobbed. “I stole her underwear and… and…” 

“And what? I’m fascinated,” Trevor said. 

“And I, I masturbated into it,” Friedlander whispered. 

“Seriously? You really want to hear all this?” Michael said, grimacing. 

“I love people. I love all their dark, stupid, horrible little secrets. More. Tell me a big secret. Something you haven’t told Michael. Tell him how you’re a scam,” Trevor said. 

Friedlander’s eyes went wide. “You… you know?” 

“Know what?” Michael asked. 

“Yeah, I know. I know it all. I’m motherfucking God,” Trevor said, jabbing the pistol into Friedlander’s throat. 

“I… Michael, I’m sorry… I wrote you into my book, it sold a lot of copies. A bestseller… I changed your name, I—” Friedlander yelped as Michael grabbed him and lifted him off the couch. 

“You what?” Michael hissed. “You said all that was confidential! Those weren’t your secrets to sell!” 

“Oh, now we’re talking.” Trevor cackled loudly. “You’re good, Doc. Real good. The best.” 

“You wanted someone to hear your problems! Now more people have. You’ve helped a lot of people who were like you,” Friedlander said desperately. “Michael, please.” 

“Fuck you, you little shit,” Michael snarled, “I should fucking kill you!” 

“Now you’re talking,” Trevor said, delighted. He handed Michael the gun, butt first. As Michael took it, Friedlander screamed and shoved Michael hard. He scrambled for the door. It felt like second nature to raise the gun, steady his shot. Fire. The shot was ringingly loud in the room. 

Michael sat back down onto the armchair, breathing hard. Trevor padded off out of his line of sight. When Michael’s hearing returned, he got up. “Tee, how did you know? About the book?”

“I didn’t. I just gave him enough rope to hang himself with it. Or get shot by you. Same thing.” Trevor sniggered.

Michael exhaled. He flicked the safety back on and tucked the gun away in the back of his pants. “We’d better go. Shit.” 

Trevor was busy rifling through drawers in Friedlander’s office. “Doesn’t he have a safe or something?” 

“Nope. Electronic everything.”

“This big building all his?” Trevor asked. 

“Yeah. Think he lives in an apartment up top,” Michael said. 

“OK. Sec.” Trevor opened random doors until he found one that looked like a fire escape. 

“What are you doing?” Michael asked, scowling at Trevor. “We gotta go.” 

“It’s called destroying the evidence, Mikey. Sit tight, and let Uncle Trevor handle every fucking thing as usual.” Trevor scrambled up the stairs. 

The building burned as they drove away. Michael watched it through the rearview mirror with a sense of satisfaction. “Bullets in the oven?” 

“You know me, Mikey. I like the classics,” Trevor said expansively. “You know, I think this therapy thing actually worked. I feel better about everything.” 

“So do I,” Michael admitted. He usually felt bad after ‘acting out’, as Friedlander liked to put it. Today he just felt pretty good. “I guess I got to say. Thank you.” 

“There’s more.” Trevor fished a pair of grubby slips out of his filthy pockets. “Found these on his kitchen table.” 

Michael nearly drove them both off the road in his surprise. “Tickets to Plenty Direction? What the hell was he doing with those?” 

“Maybe he was planning on asking someone out. Who cares. Two tickets is good. We can give one to Tracey, and I’ll take the other. Make sure no shit happens to her in a crowded venue full of jackasses her age,” Trevor said. 

“Bad idea.” Michael might not know much about young women Tracey’s age, but he was fairly sure she wouldn’t want to attend a concert with an older guy who smelled like baths were a distant concept. 

“I guess you should go with her,” Trevor said, after a moment’s thought. “Repair your father-daughter relationship.”

“Also a bad idea.” Tracey would very likely rather go to the concert with Trevor than Michael. “I. If this is important to her? I want her to enjoy it. Don’t think she will if I was there.” 

“Wow. Real progress. Big man thinking, not your usual selfish shit.” Trevor sounded impressed. 

“Yeah, yeah. Just give Tracey both tickets, let her decide. Want me to drop you off somewhere?” 

“We should go to your place. Have a drink or three. Celebrate successfully completing your therapy and all that.” 

Hell. Maybe Trevor deserved that. Michael drove them home. He got out of the garage and froze as he saw Tracey peeking in from outside the open gate. “Trace. Hey. Tracey? Something wrong?” Michael hurried over, with Trevor right behind him. 

“No. Just well. I still hate you and you ruined my life, but. I was just. In the area and thought I’d check in.” Tracey looked relieved to see them both. “Uncle Trevor? You’re OK too?”

“Never better. Hey. Heard you liked this band called Plenty Direction?” Trevor asked. 

Tracey perked up. “Well, sure! Do you like them too?” 

“I was maybe curious about Henry Miles,” Trevor said. Michael felt Trevor shove something that crinkled against his back. He took the tickets. “Your dad’s got a surprise for you.”

“What kind of surprise?” Tracey asked warily. 

“This. Sorry if they’re kinda crumpled.” Michael passed her the tickets. 

Tracey looked at them and shrieked. “Ohmygod! Dad! How did you… I don’t believe it!” She hugged him tightly. 

“Well, uh, it was a group effort. Trevor helped,” Michael said, always tense whenever Tracey got into a mood like this. Tracey let out another little shriek and hugged Trevor just as tightly. “Have fun, OK? Sorry about. Stuff. Hope your mom’s doing fine. And Jimmy. When I sort things out, I’ll let you guys know.”

“Take care. You too, Uncle Trevor.” Tracey smiled broadly. “I’ll try and do some damage control with Mom. Jimmy will help. He doesn’t like it there either. Bye! Love you both!” She floated out, hugging the tickets to herself. 

After Tracey drove away, Michael said, “Maybe you _are_ a better dad than I am. Scary as that thought is.” 

“Any sad schmuck off the street would be. But you’re what she’s got.” Trevor slapped Michael heavily on the back. “Now. That drink.”

They drank Michael’s whisky stash and got stoned on Jimmy’s weed stash. Sprawled against each other on the couch, Trevor said, “Things aren’t as bad as you think.”

“Hmmwhat?” Michael was resting his cheek against Trevor’s shoulder. Weed always made him mellow and horny at the same time. It was a weird combination. 

“This. Your family staying with Mister Namaste. Your fucking sad life. It isn’t so bad. You can fix things. Some good happened too. Franklin. Whoo. And we set fire to a therapist.”

“I’d usually call that kinda thing a relapse,” Michael said. It felt natural to nuzzle into Trevor’s shoulder, even if his shirt had seen better days. “Sometimes I envy you, Tee. Life’s real simple for you. All the time. You’re like a… a ball of chaos. Swallowing up everything. Rules, stuff. More stuff.” 

“To chaos, and stuff.” Trevor grinned, toasting Michael. They drank the last of the whisky and scuffled as they tried to check the bottle. Somehow that ended up with both of them squeezed over the couch, balancing precariously on the L bend with Michael’s shoes up against the cushions. 

Trevor purred as he rolled on top of Michael, rubbing himself lazily against Michael’s hip. Michael muttered a halfhearted protest, too high and mellow to object. This was usually how Trevor used to get off when he’d felt like he’d had the need. Before Michael had somehow acquired a wife and kids. They were alone in the house now, though, fallen right back into their old habits. Felt like this was just more of the same. A comfort, even. Michael squeezed Trevor through his pants and felt satisfaction shake through Trevor in a low purr. He let Trevor fuck into his grip, snarl against his hair. Watched Trevor go still with a full-body twitch when he came, his hands clenched tight into Michael’s hips.

#

“You could have asked one of your friends,” Trevor told Tracey as he found her outside the stadium. “That was the point of giving you both tickets.”

Tracey giggled. “I could, but when you said you were curious about Henry, how could I ask anyone else?” She hooked her arm around Trevor’s. “Besides, you’re more important to me than any of my friends.”

“Really?” The same protective warmth that Trevor had first felt when he had looked on the squalling little girl that Michael had named ‘Tracey’ bloomed in the depths of his black heart.

“‘Course! You’re family. Now c’mon. I’ve been saving for merch. We should get something for you too. Before the show starts,” Tracey said. She started to tow Trevor toward a long, sparkly booth that was thick with queues. “Maybe a shirt? How do you feel about sequins? Or pink?”

“If you like it? I’ll like it,” Trevor told her. 

Tracey laughed. “Sometimes I wish Dad was more like you.” 

“You’re so right. He should be. He’s a sad old man with no fun in his soul,” Trevor said as they got into line. 

“We should do something about that. I don’t think things are beyond saving. Him and Mom, that is. I mean, look at you and Dad. Mom said you were having a disagreement but you’re both friends again. That’s great.”

“Just great,” Trevor said. Tracey was too hyped up to notice his sour tone. There was definitely something up with Michael. The man could never act convincingly enough to save his ass. 

“Dad would never have come to this kind of thing with me. Or talked to me about Henry.” 

Trevor focused out of his funk. “What do you think about Henry?”

Tracey let out a huge sigh. “He’s so hot. So beautiful. So amazing.” 

“You wanna marry him, huh?” Trevor mentally calculated how he might be able to sneak backstage. Or maybe get Lester to find Henry’s hotel. Doing anything now would ruin the show for Tracey. 

Tracey giggled. “I say that a lot, but actually, nah. He’s happy with his current girlfriend and I wish them all the best.” 

Change of plans, then. “So what do you want out of life?” Trevor asked as they inched closer toward the stacks of overpriced merch. “You can tell your Uncle Trevor. I’m gonna make all your dreams come true.”

**Author's Note:**

> Refs:  
> In the game, you can only murder Friedlander at the end of all the therapy sessions, so I guess this is a slight AU.  
> https://www.bbc.co.uk/bbcthree/article/e12bb84a-00e1-478a-bdc6-64c56cbd0cbd  
> https://www.mic.com/articles/123689/what-its-like-to-go-to-couples-therapy-with-your-adult-bff
> 
> \--  
> twitter: @manic_intent  
> about my writing etc: manic-intent.tumblr.com  
> 


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